


Tangled Strands

by taichara



Category: Saint Seiya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:10:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Little things often mean the most.





	Tangled Strands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).



Kanon woke -- dreams of mad underworlds shattering in an instant -- to the sensation of someone tugging on his hair. Not some kind of silky stroking or gentle, well, anything, either; oh no, this was a steady pressure on one specific part of his scalp -- and then another -- and then _another_ \-- like the bastard who had him by the hair, whoever it was, was testing it like a damn sheep's fleece or ...

_You can go to --_

Sensation, thought, and action, all in one heartbeat. Spitting curses Kanon lunged upright, crackling with power and outrage, and one balled fist lashed out.

Lashed out, to be promptly engulfed by a hand very nearly an exact match that stopped his attack stone dead.

Eyes as blue as his own gazed back questioningly, reproachfully. 

Kanon decided right then and there, and before Saga could open his mouth and say a word, that he was having none of it.

"Saga, what the _f_ \--"

"What's happened to your hair, Kanon?"

The question knocked him off-balance as surely as if it'd been Saga who threw the punch. What? His ... what? Defused by sheer confusion, Kanon rocked back on his rump (his twin having so kindly let go of his hand) and just _stared_. But no, Saga was still there. On the bed, half-dressed, and clearly waiting for some kind of answer.

"... What kind of question's _that_? We actually talk ourselves out of being dead and doomed in front of those bastard Judges and the first thing you've got to ask me about is --"

"No, I mean it. Look."

Without so much as a by-your-leave Saga seized upon another trailing handful of Kanon's rough, loose ringlets. And they _were_ rough, compared to his own soft mane; obviously so, once Saga drew a few locks of his own hair forward to lie parallel with Kanon's captured curls. Kanon's hair was rougher, the waves ragged. It was also a slightly different shade: a strange, faintly greenish undertone tinted the normal colour. Kanon blinked, once, at the unexpected contrast, then snorted, and shrugged.

"A decade-plus of salt probably has an effect? That's plenty of time to do, eh, whatever ..."

Saga fingered a particularly lively snarl in Kanon's unkempt mane and eyed his twin significantly, a little half-smile flickering briefly into existence. Kanon huffed, rolling his eyes, and fixed his most challenging stare onto his brother.

"Okay, salt and bad habits. Whatever. I don't have the rot or anything, relax."

"Let me at least brush it out for you."

The words were murmured so quietly Kanon wasn't sure he'd actually heard them right. Saga what? When _was_ the last time -- before everything went to hell, obviously, but still -- he'd ... 

Saga had, apparently, already located a brush, or had one with him the entire time; and, when Kanon met his eyes, he was sitting like a statue, his own eyes shadowed, waiting again for any kind of response.

Kanon blinked, again.

Then, without a word, he about-faced in his seat on the bed, turning his bare back and its fall of curls towards his twin. A heartbeat and he felt Saga, oh so carefully, gathering up the tangled mass with one hand; another, and the first careful stroke of the brush registered.

And then Saga leaned forward, murmured softly in his ear:

"Thank you, for forgiving a fool."


End file.
